August 28 -- a date to celebrate and to mourn

Wednesday was a big day, here in D.C. Famous and many not so famous gathered in remembrance and celebration of the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. Moving speeches were made, music sung and banners waved. It was a truly feel-good event.

Wednesday was also the anniversary of a dreadful page in our history. It was on that same date in 1955 that a 14-year old, African-American boy from Chicago was tortured and lynched in Mississippi. His name was Emmet Till.

Young Emmet had made is first trip to the south to visit cousins in Mississippi. Coming from the north, he wasn’t aware of Jim Crow laws. Of course he was familiar with discrimination, but of a more subtle sort.

Pubescence may have clouded his judgment about how to act around females. As a relatively carefree, brand-new teen, away from home, having fun was foremost in his mind. Worrying about other peoples’ opinions of him may have never crossed his mind. Little did he know that the color of his skin could get him killed.

When Emmet spotted a pretty woman, he did what most any red-blooded American boy would do. He complimented her with a wolf-whistle. His Black cousins may have turned fifty shades of white at that point, knowing that what he had done - simple as it was - was considered an insult and crime.

It didn’t take long before grown men, including the woman’s husband, dragged Emmet into a barn, beat the living daylights out of him, then lynched him. All of this done in the name of a lady’s honor. [I hope that said “lady” was forever haunted by what was committed in her name.]

We still cannot claim that all Americans are treated equally. Until those of a certain age are gone and take their segregationist and racist attitudes with them, the struggle will go on.

Younger generations are the hope for our future. However, we must protect them from the twisted thinking of neo-this-and-that groups that foment anarchy and chaos. We CAN overcome!

Oxymoron of the Day

Buddhist gangs attacked a Muslim neighborhood and torched Muslim homes during a rampage in northwestern Burma. They did this after hearing rumors that a young Buddhist woman had been sexually assaulted by a Muslim man.

Was I wrong in believing that Buddhists were some of the most peace-loving people on Earth? Granted, their country, aka Myanmar, has been wracked by violence since the military took over some years back. It’s just too sad that people who once lived in what seemed like harmony are at each others’ throats.

Sexual assault is horrendous. The rule of law, however, should be allowed to do it’s job of determining guilt or innocence. Rule of mob is never a good alternative.

Celebrating Young Women

Having been born in the middle of the last century, I feel kinda old sometimes. My body is no longer kind to me, but my mind is, most times, still enjoying life as a 34-year-old.

When I saw pictures of a read about the McLean all-stars from about a dozen northern Virginia middle schools playing in the Little League Softball World Series I was thrust back in time. So much has happened to elevate young women from tittering, pretty little girls into strong, capable young women!

Athleticism and participation in sports were not top goals for the majority of the girls I knew in middle school. Yes, I played badminton and volleyball and failed miserably at golf and tennis. Still, I was never encouraged to get rough and tough in order to win because I was a girl. Good sportsmanship was far more important.

It makes me so proud to see members of my gender succeeding in so many more ways than were available to me when I was their age. They don’t worry about getting dirty and sweaty or sacrificing “prettiness” to win a game. Perfect make-up and hair simply cannot be considerations when one participates in sports.

Though the McLean all-stars may have lost in the World Series, they remain champions and role models for their younger sisters coming up behind them. These young women are proof that the “fairer sex” is not weak and that they are capable of great things.

I would like to hug each member of this team and reassure her that she will always be a winner when she gives her all, whether or not she wins the game.

What qualifies as news?

Well into the A section of yesterday’s Washington Post, right above an item about a Russian surgeon being arrested for keeping packets of heroin he was ordered to remove from a human “mule’s” stomach, was a short paragraph of jaw dropping news.

Granted, not everyone is interested in women’s rights in our own country, much less in other countries. Still . . . .

The newly elected president of the Islamic Republic of Iran appointed a WOMAN vice president for legal affairs. Just the fact that President Rouhani campaigned with the promise to involve more women in government was ground-breaking. Let’s hope his word is good.

In too many countries, women remain at the bottom of the political and economic ladder. A few pages later . . .

. . . . in the same issue, was an open letter to the Prime Minister of Bangladesh. Signed by members of the U.S. Congress, it urged him to stop his planned changes to an extraordinary organization: the Grameen Bank.

The gentleman who started this Nobel Prize-winning institution did it to enable impoverished Bangladeshis, most of them women, to take out micro-loans in order to start small businesses. For example: the purchase of a sewing machine could enable a person to earn financial independence for herself and her family. [search Grameen Bank and see how this brilliant, small-scale idea has spread around the world]

Grameen Bank’s clients and investors run the bank, avoiding the national political mire. If Sheik Hasina gets his way, his cronies would replace borrowers who currently sit on the bank’s governing board. In essence, Grameen Bank would become a government institution -- ruinous to it’s mission. In other words -- if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

Grameen Bank works because it is humane, fair and practical. This is not the time to disenfranchise those who so desperately need, appreciate and benefit from Grameen Bank loans. Honor, not handouts make people strong. Repayment rates prove this.

After almost half a century, we still don’t get it.

When I went off to college in 1967, I fully intended to become an elementary school teacher. It was a most appropriate vocation for young ladies in those days -- that or secretarial work, nursing or marrying and raising a family. Our futures were pretty limited.

First semester went well enough, taking core classes that all freshmen had to take. Luckily for me, I aced Spanish because my college class used the same book we had in high school. Other than that, I was a mediocre student more interested in sororities and social life.

Second semester exposed me to a rough gang: political science majors. Not only did they know how to party, but they were liberals! Coming from a long line of conservatives, this was quite an eye-opener. My liberal gene really kicked-into gear following the assassinations of M.L.King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy in 1968.

That was also an election year and we held mock political conventions on campus. The civil rights movement was very hot and growing stronger and more militant by the day. Dr. King’s message of peaceful revolution was pretty much abandoned after he was gunned down. All hell broke loose.

At the same time the Vietnam War was causing many of us to agonize over drafted friends who went off to fight a war they detested and either died far too young or came home terribly damaged.

I considered myself a Peacenik but felt helpless because I had no power -- not even old enough to vote. Protesting was pretty pointless in my college’s tiny, rural town in the middle of the corn belt. However, passions were just as strong as they were on larger campuses across the country.

The summer of 1968 is memorable because of massive and often destructive demonstrations of frustration over the national status quo. Our military seemed to be doing more harm than good in Southeast Asia with huge sacrifices of human lives and tax dollars. It was a no-win situation that kept writhing along. Television and print media provided a constant stream of graphic details.

That summer also brought my political-science-major boyfriend to my family home 30 miles outside Chicago. He was determined to join the protests at the Democratic National Convention. I was reluctant but gullible enough to take the train into the city with him. We visited Eugene McCarthy’s headquarters and bought campaign stuff. Then wandered around.

As we headed toward the convention center, BF was trying to find out where the action was. He was ready to jump in with both feet while I knew my dad would string me up if I got arrested. It took some heavy persuasion to get him on the train back north to my safe, quiet home town. We all know what happened later that day and night and BF was so disappointed that he missed the ruckus.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Today, in 2013, I came across a paper I wrote for my political history class in 1969. That is what triggered all of the above. It also struck me so true for our current status as a world power.

The paper was a comparison and critique of J. William Fulbright’s The Arrogance of Power and William Appleman Williams’ The Tragedy of American Diplomacy. I certainly won’t bore you with the whole thing, but a few paragraphs struck me as so relevant for now, in 2013. Remember I wrote this in 1969.

According to J. William Fulbright, America has reached a point in its history as have other nations, where it is in “danger of losing its perspective on what exactly is within its realm of power and what is beyond it.” He adds that American “power tends to confuse itself with virtue” and as a great nation it is almost a duty to remake less great nations “. . . in its own shining image.” Williams has basically the same attitude towards this philosophy. “This insistence that other people ought to copy America contradicts the humanitarian urge to help them. . .”

Both men agree that the American form of democracy and everything that it encompasses cannot work and cannot be justified in most other nations. The necessity for self-determination by other governments and people is often over looked by our basically well-meaning makers of foreign policy.

As far as foreign aid is concerned, Fulbright and Williams agree that the United States has overextended itself to the point that it is almost ignoring the domestic and economic problems within its own population by trying to be a ‘rich uncle’ to every poor, underdeveloped country it can find.

Will we ever learn?

"Katherine"

I never thought that such a simply titled book would excite and move me in the ways it did. If you enjoy reading Medieval history, I highly recommend this book to you. It could be called a romance novel, but that is a small part of the story. The characters and events are real and the author, Anya Seton, did a remarkable job of fleshing them out.

Katherine Swynford was forced, at the age of 15, to marry an older, somewhat brutish man. He was smitten with her, but had no idea how to express his feelings or how to be a gentle, loving husband. Having no choice, she submitted to him and bore his children.

John of Gaunt, aka the Duke of Lancaster, and son of King Edward III of England was an older, man who, after his beloved first wife, Blanche died, was forced to marry a member of Castile’s royal family for political gain. It was in no way a love match, but they both did their duty.

During the 14^th century, the Black Plague wiped out much of Europe’s population. By some lucky fate, Katherine Swynford survived the disease when she was a child and became immune. Subsequently, she was brought to the royal court to tend to the Duke’s wife who was afflicted with the dreaded disease. She became governess to the Lancaster daughters and in short order, she and the Duke of Lancaster started to fall in love. Being devout Catholics, they both tried to avoid the entanglement, but failed.

Geoffrey Chaucer was Katherine’s brother-in-law and adds an interesting element to the story. During this period, the Reformation was also starting to gain strength and was a significant factor in the lovers’ story.

Royal intrigue, bastardy, political machinations, incredible wealth and poverty, lust, mental illness, overwhelming religious fervor and guilt -- it’s all there and makes the book and hard to put down.

The only gripe I have is that the Kindle version I downloaded is full of typos, something all too common in e-books. Still, this story is well worth a read.

A pumpkin walking on bread sticks.

That’s how I would describe a woman I recently saw.

I suspect that stretchy leggings are probably very comfortable - but - there are people of certain shapes who should avoid wearing them in public. I admit that I am one of those who should not [and does not] wear them.

To add to her, shall we say awkward style, she wore a too short blouse that might have looked OK from the front, but definitely not from the rear which was my viewing angle. I was embarrassed for her and quickly looked away stifling a grimace.

Very few of us look like models, but some won’t give up trying to. It pains me to see an older woman in heavy make-up, dyed hair, too short skirts or shorts, and ridiculously high heels. Admittedly, I still wear make-up but I’ve toned it way down as I’ve aged. I feel more confident wearing a little war paint.

Perhaps I may be a bit old-fashioned, too. After all, I did wear a slip, stockings, and girdle under the dresses I wore most everywhere until I was about 37. I think they have now gone the way of the whale-boned corset.

Jiggling butts and bellies, and see-through skirts are not attractive. And platform stilettos?! Please . . . Designers of women’s footwear are all masochists! [or is it femochists?] And designers of women’s head gear think we all have the same-sized heads, for pete’s sake!

I’m just reminded of some pitiful looking comb-overs on men. Some go to extremes to cover bald spots and they just look goofy. I thought that when Rudy Guiliani gave up his that others might follow suit. I wish they would. There are some very appealing balding and bald men out there who exude comfortable confidence in who they are. Now that’s sexy!

So . . . . to all the ladies and gentlemen out there: please make an honest evaluation of your appearance - from all angles. Trying to look like a 25 year old when you are 60 just makes you look foolish and undignified.

True Facts About The Mantis Shrimp

If you need some real chuckles, this is for you!

I do not and can not understand.

A White Man armed with a loaded pistol stalks and confronts a Black Teen armed with a bag of candy. WM doesn’t like the way the BT looks and acts. Caught off-guard and feeling put-upon, BT tells WM to mind his own business. WM and BT get pissed and start fighting. WM pulls pistol and shoots BT dead.

WM admits shooting BT.

WM is arrested, jailed and goes to court. Jury finds WM innocent of all charges. Hunh?!

Now lets reverse the roles: BM confronts WT because he doesn’t like the way he looks. A tussle ensues in which BM draws pistol and shoots WT. Can anyone believe that the outcome would the same?

Racism and prejudice still thrive in the U.S. Even though this country is composed of people from every nation on Earth. Historically, each new immigrant group has had to swim through the molasses of prejudice to embrace their rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The premise that all men [humans] are created equal is deliberately ignored by those who came earlier, don’t want to compete for the American Dream and are willing to walk-over anyone who challenges them. They enjoy provoking feelings of inferiority in others. Vicious cycle.

I do not understand how Florida law can allow someone who admits to shooting someone else, particularly an unarmed stranger to get away with it and not be punished. Another life has been abruptly and brutally ended!

I can not fathom that the WM in this case was not at least charged with and found guilty of assault with a dangerous weapon, stalking, and/or interfering with law enforcement. When the WM called 911 to report that he was following a “suspicious character“, the police told him to stop, that they would handle it. But he decided he knew better.

The guy shot and killed another guy and he is judged innocent?! Unreal. . . . . ..

It's getting ugly at the Tabard Inn

During the early 1970s I worked across the street from this ancient little inn. After work, a group of us would cross the street to enjoy some Tabard hospitality. During the winter, we took over a small parlor with a big fire place. As many of us that could crowded onto a long, antique sofa across from the fireplace. Shots of Jack Daniels further warmed our cockles.

During warm weather you could find us on the back patio enjoying Singapore Slings, whiskey sours, etc. The tiny restaurant produced some great meals, too. But this was before it became a landmark and “in place to be.”

Now it appears that the Inn’s ownership is leaving many of it’s employees very unhappy or showing them the door. Sexual harassment should have subsided long ago, but it seems to be alive and thriving at the Tabard. Having had to put up with it during the 60s, 70s and into the 80s, I thought we had evolved enough to understand that it is NOT RIGHT.

To my astonishment, I read that the Tabard’s owner told one female employee who complained about an uncomfortable “touchy-feely” experience with a male employee to take his sleazy comments and actions as compliments. Can you imagine?!

Are men incapable of adapting to modern standards of decorum? Unwanted sexual advances, particularly in the work place are now forbidden by law. What will it take for men and, admittedly some women, to understand this?

There is a time and place for everything. Someone’s work environment should be free of embarrassing or uncomfortable behavior. Speaking from personal experience, the fear of being groped and/or assaulted with sexual commentary is damaging and nerve-racking.

So, to the owner of the Tabard, I say: Step into the 21^st century and stop accepting and supporting the Neanderthal behavior of some of your employees. If you don’t, you will lose.

Here we go again. . ..

A newly minted member of Congress, Rep. Kerry Bentivolio (R-Mich.), is testing his congressional wings by proposing that red light and speed cameras in D.C. be banned. Hmmm -- do you think he might be a speeder and red-light-runner?

Congress has already dumped our voter-approved gun control laws. Now this. There are sound reasons why D.C. needs it’s traffic laws and controls. They were not put in place simply to annoy members of Congress.

Maybe Rep. Bentivolio doesn’t mind speeders and red-light-runners in Michigan. Washington, D.C., however, is a small area with heavy pedestrian and vehicular traffic. Sometimes visitors from other countries look the wrong way when crossing streets or forget that green means go and red means stop.

This proposal is just one more arrogant attempt to throw weight around. D.C. residents did not elect Rep. Bentivolio therefore he needs to butt-out of local matters. Besides, how would his proposal help his constituents -- IN MICHIGAN?

Stuck in the Mud

Yesterday a MD-90 passenger jet got stuck in the mud while attempting take-off from Washington National Airport*.  I'm sure it was no fun for the passengers and crew and, thankfully, no one was injured.  Nevertheless, it seemed like a perfect analogy for what's going on a few miles away up on Capitol Hill.

Congress continues to argue over legislation addressing important, national issues. This must be very frustrating for members who understand what collaboration and compromise mean.  Without term limits, members of Congress must always push for the interests of their constituencies to help ensure they will be re-elected.  Can't say that I blame them; the perks for members of Congress are huge and well beyond the reach of an average American.  And -- they are all paid for by you and me.

Mud-slinging is nothing new in D.C.  There's always plenty to go around and plenty of people willing to sling it, even if it means endangering American lives and increasing world tensions.  Frankly, I'd like to sling some mud on one Edward Snowden.  I value my privacy and accept that, in today's world, some of it must be sacrificed to help ensure my safety.  To deliberately reveal national secrets is nothing short of treason.

*I refuse to add Reagan to our airport's name.  Does no one remember when he fired all the air traffic controllers?!  Besides, the late president's name is plastered on enough edifices as it is.

Six New Blood Brothers and Sisters

Early this Spring, I had total hip replacement surgery. It has been a resounding success -- after some glitches got worked out.

Among several things I had not expected was the necessity for six blood transfusions; four during the surgery and two more about two weeks afterwards. I remember signing papers giving my doctor permission to transfuse blood, but I never dreamed I would need any and certainly not that much.

The only time I was aware of getting donated blood was when my doctor put me back in the hospital after two weeks in a rehab center. It was a huge surprise and a moving experience watching someone else’s blood flowing through clear tubing into a vein in my hand. To think that people I will probably never know would donate their very lifeblood to a stranger made me feel so grateful.

When I worked for the local American Red Cross chapter, it was customary but not required to donate. Blood supplies run dangerously low during summertime and holidays when regular donors take vacations.  Staff members knew this and made a point of donating during those times.

Even though I reacted (fainting, low blood pressure) every time I donated, I gave eight pints before the nurses told me not to give any more. Truthfully I was not totally broken-hearted because I hated those big ole needles. Still, I feel bad that I can’t help people who need my type A+ blood, especially now.

So . . .. on the off-chance that any of the donors who helped restore my health read this -- many, many thanks. We have a connection I will always cherish.

Moved to Tears

Since 1988, hundreds of thousands of motorcycling U.S. Military veterans from around the country have congregated in Washington for Memorial Day weekend. Their Rolling Thunder roars through Arlington National Cemetery and through the city reminding all of us of their comrades’ sacrifices during the wars Americans have fought.

Most of the guys are around my age, having fought and survived the war in Vietnam. They are MY vets.

Matt McClain’s picture in the Washington Post this morning brought tears to me eyes. Two of MY vets in jeans, black shirts, hats and dark glasses stood on the narrow island dividing north bound and south bound traffic on 23^rd Street, heading north, away from Memorial Bridge and the Lincoln Memorial. Between them was an Army Pfc. In dress uniform holding a stiff salute.

This has been done before and too few realize what a fete it is to stand at attention, holding a formal salute for several hours. That’s how long it takes for Rolling Thunder to make its way out of the cemetery and up 23^rd Street. Two of MY guys left their bikes to support the Pfc. One braced his saluting arm and the big, tattooed guy on the other side was touching his other hand.

I’m so very proud of MY vets because they have been making extraordinary efforts to assure that their brethren at arms returning from the Middle East are welcomed home. MY vets were made to feel ashamed and unwelcome when they returned from Southeast Asia. Most of them were not volunteers as today’s military members are, so the ugly homecomings were even harder on them. Too many of them still suffer following their horrific experiences.

I credit MY vets for inspiring military bigwigs to recognize and treat things like PTSD and traumatic brain injuries as the real afflictions they are. Too often, in the past, only injuries that were visible to the human eye were taken seriously.

My own, late father only revealed a few of the horrors he witnessed in WWII during the last days of his life. I had to press him for details after watching a documentary on WWII in the Pacific, where he served in the Navy. My mother, his beloved wife of 62 years, had the strength and unconditional love to enable him to live a long, mostly happy life. (I say mostly happy because raising five kids wasn’t always a happy experience for any of us.)

Families left behind suffer the most, I think. Receiving word that someone is categorized as Missing in Action is almost worse than learning of someone’s death in war. For years I wore my MIA bracelet in remembrance of an Army Pfc. who was unaccounted for. I reluctantly mailed it in when a project to make a statue out of the metal from all those bracelets was proposed. I never heard anything about it afterwards. If anyone knows what happened to this project, I’d sure like to know.

I just opened an email from a friend wishing me a Happy Memorial Day. What on Earth is happy about this day?! Businesses hold Memorial Day sales in hopes of making more money and others just enjoy a day off.

I wouldn’t call myself a kill-joy, but come on, people -- this is a day to remember our war-dead. Amen.